


welcome to paradise

by annejumps



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Adult Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Adult Losers Club (IT), Friends With Benefits, M/M, Misunderstandings, Pining, Roommates, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-06
Updated: 2020-04-06
Packaged: 2021-02-23 01:48:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,968
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23503807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annejumps/pseuds/annejumps
Summary: Richie freezes, his mind filled with exclamation points. Okay, Eddie is definitely going to let him go sleep on the couch now, if he doesn’t just hastily flee the awkwardness to his room, no questions asked and the whole thing never mentioned again. Richie licks his dry lips, preparing an explanation that mentions morning wood, no more, no less. Yeah. Okay. He can handle this. It’s fine.“Rich,” Eddie says, and even in the dim light without his glasses on Richie can see how high up his forehead his eyebrows are, “are you… hard?”He doesn’t sound outraged; he sounds… interested. But that can’t be right.
Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Comments: 23
Kudos: 421





	welcome to paradise

Richie wakes from the heavy sleep of someone who had a fair amount to drink and realizes two things:

1\. He is not as drunk now as he was last night when he changed into sleep pants and tumbled into bed, and  
2\. Someone is getting into bed with him.

He’s alarmed for a second, until he hears a tipsy Eddie sleepily murmuring “I was cold” by way of explanation as he pulls the covers up over them both.

“Okay, bud,” Richie answers, bleary. He’s not awake enough to process the concept of Eddie being in his bed. “S’warm here.” It is definitely warm under here, and getting warmer. 

They’d come back together from Ben and Bev’s party, which luckily was not a far walk, practically arm in arm, Richie teasing him and Eddie pretending not to like it, as usual. Richie offered to let Eddie live here after his divorce, and it’s gone really well. After a decade or two of not seeing the man who’s been his best friend since kindergarten, he gets to see him every day. There’s basically a whole section of Richie’s house that Eddie can use without getting in his way, as Eddie put it, conscious of not wanting to upset Richie’s routine, such as it is. Eddie can’t cook, but he likes doing laundry and really likes vacuuming and dusting. They watch TV together. It’s great.

It does, however, make it harder for Richie to forget that he has loved Eddie since kindergarten.

And now Eddie is spooning him. _Platonic spooning_ , he tells himself frantically. Eddie is definitely making himself at home, his no-doubt still-plastered state (Eddie’s smaller than Richie and a lifetime of neurotic attention to his health means he has almost no tolerance) stripping away his usual hesitation. But when Eddie decides he wants to do something, he’s all in after that point. He’s rubbing the tip of his nose against the back of Richie’s neck, although gently; sighing contentedly; running a hand up and down Richie’s arm. And of course the spooning. “Warm,” Eddie murmurs, barely audible, tucking his knees up behind Richie’s.

 _Platonic spooning_ , he reminds himself. _No matter how many fantasies you’ve had about this, this isn’t what you think it is. Eddie’s drunk. Eddie is straight. Eddie was married to a woman._ Eddie knows he’s gay—everyone in their friend group, the self-named Losers, has known since high school—but that hardly seems to matter, all things considered.

His dick isn’t listening. Eddie is still being cuddly, although he’s clearly dozing off. Eddie gets kind of manic and cuddly when drunk, so it’s not surprising he’d wanted company. 

Richie, somehow, falls asleep again. It helps that Eddie’s apparently fallen asleep too.

But he wakes what seems like a few hours later, with a start. When he remembers Eddie’s in bed with him, he starts getting hard again. Eddie apparently woke up when Richie stirred, and shifts against him, getting closer. Any second now Eddie’s groin is going to be against Richie’s ass, maybe pressing against it—

“Okay, okay. Eds,” he gets out, and raises himself up on one arm. It’s only just now starting to lighten outside, he can still get some Z’s elsewhere. “I— I gotta get up, okay, man?” _”Get up,” yeah, I’m already up_. “I just— Feel free to stay here, I can go sleep on the couch—”

“Don’t be silly,” Eddie says, trying to pull him back down. “It’s your bed. Stay here.” It’s unclear from the sound of his voice whether he’s still drunk at all. His metabolism is so fast he might not be, but….

The light is pretty low in here, but Richie is just wearing these thin sleep pants, and at the angle Eddie pulls him back down, where he’s slightly turned more onto his back, Richie can tell he’s looked down and can see they’re tented.

Richie freezes, his mind filled with exclamation points. Okay, Eddie is definitely going to let him go sleep on the couch now, if he doesn’t just hastily flee the awkwardness to his room, no questions asked and the whole thing never mentioned again. Richie licks his dry lips, preparing an explanation that mentions morning wood, no more, no less. Yeah. Okay. He can handle this. It’s fine.

“Rich,” Eddie says, and even in the dim light without his glasses on Richie can see how high up his forehead his eyebrows are, “are you… hard?” 

He doesn’t sound outraged; he sounds… interested. But that can’t be right.

“Uh,” Richie says.

“I am too,” Eddie says, confiding it almost like a secret. 

“Uh, lemme, get my.” Richie scrambles blindly with one hand for his glasses, on the nightstand. He wishes he’d cleaned them after he got home, but whatever. He clumsily puts them on. Eddie’s only wearing little black boxer briefs, and oh sweet mother Mary and all the saints. Richie has seen him in his little outfits he wears when he goes running but this is another level entirely. And yeah. “Yeah, you sure are. You know… I could,” he swallows, and laughs, but it’s dry, “I could help you out with that.” He waggles his eyebrows, because he’s joking, of course. Eddie must know he’s joking. He’s joking, right? It’s all a big joke. Yeah. Yeah, no, he’d totally, 100% help Eddie with his erection, but… Eddie wouldn’t really want that, and surely that’s not going to happen. The gods aren’t that kind. This situation is ludicrous, and his fantasies aren’t going to become real.

“Could you?” Then Eddie’s taking his hand, and putting it over Eddie’s bulge. He bucks his hips up just a bit at the contact, inhaling, pressing himself into Richie’s palm. 

“Jesus,” Richie breathes, feeling around, and giving Eddie a squeeze which makes him exhale. God, he wishes he’d turned the light on. He throws the covers back, and gets his hand into Eddie’s boxer briefs. Fuck, his hand is around Eddie’s cock. Eddie’s cock! Eddie raises his hips and moves the fabric down, out of Richie’s way, and sighs, a deep, trembling sigh. Richie stares. Jesus, there’s his hand around Eddie’s cock.

Richie works him like it’s his job, and it doesn’t really take long until Eddie’s groaning and coming over his hand. It’s so quick Richie barely manages to commit it to memory. That doesn’t mean anything in particular about Richie, though. Eddie’s just horny, that’s all. It happens. Maybe it’s some sort of pity gesture? Eddie’s still kinda drunk, no doubt. 

Fuck, Eddie’s still kind of drunk. There’s no way he’d want this if he were sober. Fuck!

“Thanks, Rich. You want this too?” Eddie’s murmuring, and his hand is already in the fly of Richie’s sleep pants.

“Yes, fuck,” Richie grits out, hating himself a little for his weakness even in the face of his ultimate temptation. He barely has time to process that Eddie’s hand is around his cock, squeezing him; a few firm fast strokes and he comes even faster than Eddie had. And fuck, it feels good. Of course it does; it’s Eddie.

“Mmm,” Eddie murmurs, content, shoving at him a little to get him on his side again. “Sleep,” Eddie tells him, pulling up the covers again, and unbelievably, after throwing his glasses at the nightstand, he does.

\-------

He wakes in full sunlight, alone and sticky. He can distantly hear Eddie whistling in the kitchen.

Richie takes the fastest shower he’s ever taken and joins him. 

“Listen, Eddie.”

Eddie, freshly scrubbed and looking chipper, raises his brow from where he’s mixing a bowl of eggs to be scrambled, expectant. Scrambled eggs is one thing Eddie has become good at. “Yeah, Rich?”

“Sorry, man, I—” Richie runs a hand through his wet hair, and winces. “You were drunk, man, I’m sorry. I should have left and just let you have my bed.”

“I wasn’t that drunk,” Eddie says, shaking his head.

“You mean… you remember everything that happened?” 

“Yeah. Wait, do you?” Eddie suddenly looks really concerned.

“Yeah, yeah, I mean, yeah, it’s fine. I’m pretty sure I do… remember… everything.” Richie can feel himself blushing. 

“So… we’re good?” Eddie adds salt and pepper to the eggs, then goes to the fridge to get the milk to add some in, to make it creamier. That was his addition, the day Richie had shown him. 

“Yeah. We’re good,” Richie finally says, and goes to get glasses down for orange juice.

\-------

For a few days they act like nothing happened. Then, one night, Eddie’s had a particularly stressful day at work, and Richie is surprised and somehow also not when Eddie comes to his door at about one a.m., sounding tired when he says, “Can I—”

“Yeah,” Richie answers, almost too quickly, and he throws back the covers. He’s still awake, like he had been the past few nights for the first hour or so after he’d gotten into bed, in case Eddie showed up. He has his glasses on, too. Eddie doesn’t point that out, if he even notices—he’s already hard, Richie can tell because he’s just wearing little boxer briefs again. 

“It’s just— That fuckup today with the VPs, I just—” 

“It’s fine, yeah, you’re stressed out,” Richie says, getting his hand in Eddie’s underwear and around his dick again, shivering all over at the sound Eddie makes when Richie squeezes him. 

“God, Richie—” Eddie closes his eyes, his lips parting. It doesn’t take long this time, either. And it doesn’t for Richie, either, after watching that.

He wakes a few hours later to piss, extricating himself from Eddie’s hold, and when he gets back into his bed Eddie, still asleep, wraps around him again. It makes him ache in a way he can’t explain. But he still sleeps far more soundly than he usually does.

\-------

Ben and Bev have another party that Saturday night, and he and Eddie don’t have as much to drink this time, but they definitely have a few. That’s probably why, when Eddie comes in later that night, he pulls down Richie’s sleep pants and puts his mouth around Richie’s cock.

“Holy shit,” Richie croaks. “Fuck.” Eddie Kaspbrak is sucking his cock?! Okay, he seems kind of unpracticed at it, but who fucking cares, right? The angle is weird but it doesn’t matter, because Eddie’s tongue is on him, his lips are tight around him and… and soon enough he’s coming down Eddie’s throat. Eddie, who used to yell at them all as kids about staph infection this and tetanus that and AIDS and so on, is swallowing his come. Whatever therapy he’s been in these intervening years, Richie wants to thank his therapist(s). Wait, maybe he’s actually dreaming this. “Am I dreaming this?” he gets out as Eddie pulls off, licking his lips, face flushed and eyes bright.

“Don’t think so,” Eddie says, voice a little raspy. 

“Okay wait a second, lemme—” Richie moves down the bed and Eddie pulls down his boxer briefs and Richie finally gets his mouth on Eddie’s cock. So okay, Richie’s closeted enough that he hasn’t done this a lot before—he’s probably had it done to him more. In fact, he knows he has because it’s just easier that way. But he gives this his all, because it’s Eddie. He tastes him, maps the contours of his cock with his tongue, stores every hiss and gasp and curse in his memory. Yeah, the angle is weird now too, but Richie doesn’t care and it seems like Eddie doesn’t either; he holds down Eddie’s hips and shudders when Eddie’s hands pull at his hair and his glasses slide onto Eddie’s stomach and he swallows Eddie down.

“Thanks, Rich,” Eddie sighs some time later, sounding utterly sated. With a hum, he pulls Richie up behind him for sleep, Richie’s arms going around him after he once again tosses his glasses in the general direction of the nightstand.

\-------

“I let myself in,” Richie hears Bev say. 

He turns to see her standing in the doorway of his bedroom. Thank god his glasses aren’t on, otherwise he’d have to see her expression right now as she takes in a shirtless Eddie and himself in his bed, Eddie’s hair mussed, and Richie’s hair a mess.

“I see that,” he croaks. “Hi, Bev.” Eddie has gone completely still.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” Bev says. “Neither of you were. I guess now I know why.” He can hear the smirk in her tone now.

“Uh, it’s not what it looks like. We’re friends,” Richie says hastily, as Eddie says “I was cold.”

Bev waits a beat before saying, “Well, now that I know you’re okay,” pause, “I can go back home.”

“Yeah, okay,” Richie says, as Eddie says “Thanks, Bev.”

“Don’t tell anybody,” Richie calls after her, and he gets a hearty laugh from down the hall in return. “Seriously, Red, don’t! We’re friends! It doesn’t mean anything!”

“Okay, Richie. You got it,” Bev calls back, sounding unbelievably amused, possibly sarcastic.

They lie there in silence, listening as Bev leaves, closing the front door, her car driving away.

“Jesus,” Richie says to no one in particular. “I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to live that down.”

“She’s not going to tell anybody, though, right?” Eddie says. Even though it was Richie who called after her to not tell anyone, Richie’s a little stung. What is he, Eddie’s dirty little secret? Well, yeah, he kind of is. As Eddie is his. But it didn’t mean anything! They were friends. Hell, Eddie isn’t even gay. This just… happened sometimes. And Richie really should put a stop to it, but….

“What’s to tell?” Richie says dryly. “We’re friends.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says, quiet. “We’re… you know… friends with benefits.”

Richie nods. “Yup. That’s us.”

\-------

Yeah, Richie thinks about what else they could do. He can’t really help it. But he doesn’t let himself get into details. 

He doesn’t think about Eddie beneath him, runner’s legs wrapped around him, and he really doesn’t think about being bent over for Eddie, knees spread, Eddie’s hand on his back. 

Okay, he thinks about it in the shower. But not in too much detail. Because that’s too much, that would be too much for friends. He can’t have that, so there’s no use thinking about it. 

Not in detail, anyway. 

\-------

Eddie doesn’t come to his room every night, but he does when, say, his back hurts; the guest room bed is a guest room bed, after all, and it’s the master bedroom that has the good mattress. That just makes sense. It’s also getting pretty cold out, so yeah, body heat. Makes sense. 

They never kiss. Richie wants—has always wanted—to kiss Eddie’s thin-lipped mouth, part his lips with his tongue and just make out with him. Could happily have done nothing but that, but they’re friends, and friends don’t kiss. Besides, if Eddie wanted to kiss him, they’d be kissing, Richie is sure. It’s fine. It’s enough to have Eddie here, in his house, sometimes in his bed, sometimes in his pants.

Stress-relieving handjobs become routine, if you want to call one of the most amazing developments of Richie’s life “routine.” One night Eddie sits him on the edge of the bed and says “I want to try this with a better angle,” and sucks Richie’s brain out through his dick. 

“I think that time was better,” Eddie says as Richie sinks to the floor next to him, getting a hand in his pants—and very nearly forgetting himself and kissing him. He comes within inches of touching his lips to Eddie’s, but remembers in time and blinks at him, watching Eddie’s eyes go wide and dark, the way he bites his lip, the flush that spreads over his cheeks and the way his eyes half-close as he shudders and comes in Richie’s fast-moving hand. _Maybe now I could get away with it, this time_ , he thinks, looking at Eddie’s parted lips, imagining how he’d taste. But he doesn’t kiss him.

\-------

Another party, this time at Bill’s. It’s MIke’s birthday, so he’s in town, as is Stan, for the festivities. Bill lives further away, so they have to drive, and they take Richie’s car, although Eddie has plenty of criticism for his driving. “You can get out and walk there, you know,” Richie tells him. Eddie seems kind of on edge, for some reason, even more so than he usually is.

This is the first thing they’ve gone to since Bev walked in on them, and Richie can only hope she hasn’t told anybody. His hopes are dashed the second he sees Mike’s knowing smile, Bill’s shit-eating grin, and Stan’s smug look. Taken all together, it makes him feel protective of Eddie. He glares at everyone, and no one actually says anything about it, but somehow that makes it worse, seeing the knowing glances when he asks Eddie if he wants Richie to get him a beer, when Richie puts a hand briefly to his back when walking past him, et fucking cetera. 

A few hours in and more than a few drinks in them, and they’ve once again reverted to how they used to be back in their hometown, as kids—but with alcohol. 

“Let’s play Truth or Dare,” Bev says, with the excitement of a drunk person who thinks they have a great idea. 

“Uh, aren’t we a little fucking old for that?” Richie says, over a spike of panic in his stomach. But his protests go unheeded, because everyone else seems to think it’s a fucking great idea, except maybe Eddie, who still seems pretty on edge.

Mike picks Truth, and Bev asks him how old he was when he lost his virginity, although from the way Bill and Mike are both blushing and laughing it seems Bill might already know, and what the hell, Bev too, since she knows everything. Stan is dared by Ben to balance an egg on his head for twenty minutes. “It’ll stay in that thick Jewfro of yours,” Richie remarks. 

Richie, trying to take deep breaths, downs the rest of his beer, and then suddenly Bill, cheeks red with whiskey, is asking him, “Richie. Truth or Dare?”

“Truth,” Richie says without thinking, and immediately regrets it, stomach dropping like a rock, his head swimming.

“Do you want to be more than just friends with benefits with Eddie?” he asks, slurring a little, and there’s that stupid smirk again. He hears Bev stifle a giggle, and Ben gently admonish her.

Panic, panic, panic. “No,” Richie lies, and he makes the mistake of looking at Eddie immediately ( _what am I, some kind of fucking idiot_ ). Something crosses Eddie’s face, his eyes widening slightly, and then Eddie raises his glass and downs the rest of it. Relief. Eddie’s relieved he said he didn’t want more than what they have.

“Excuse me, guys,” Richie says abruptly, standing. He goes to Bill’s half-bath in the hallway and just stands there with the door closed, listening to the others carrying on, laughing and teasing.

But in short order, Bev is calling for him at the door, voice soft, and she raps on it once with her knuckles and walks in. “You okay?”

“Not really! That was pretty shitty of you, Bev,” Richie says, teeth gritted. “I asked you not to fucking tell anybody.”

“I only told Ben,” she protests.

“Yeah, right, somehow everybody fucking knows,” Richie hisses.

“Okay, well…. Ben said we needed to talk to the others, ask them what to do, so he—”

“‘What to do’? Eddie and I are friends, we’re roommates, and sometimes he… gets in my bed, and we….” Fuck, he sounds ridiculous, and _shit_ , he can feel himself welling up. “He doesn’t want more than that, okay? He’s straight, Bev, he’s newly divorced. He’s… he’s lonely, that’s all. We don’t even kiss.” He can’t look at her, and when she steps closer and gently puts a hand to his hair, he closes his eyes and takes a deep shuddering breath.

“Honey,” is all she says.

“Look, just leave it alone, okay? I don’t want to be some kind of, like, object of gossip for you, and Eddie sure as shit doesn’t deserve that.”

“Honey, it’s not like that. We love you, and I just…. I think if you saw what we saw,” she says, combing a hand through his hair like he’s a feverish child home sick or something, “you might… want more too.”

“Are you fucking kidding me, Bev, I do want more. I’ve wanted more from Eddie since I knew what wanting someone even was!” He glances at the door; it’s mostly closed, and besides, he can still hear the others carrying on. 

“Well, then—”

“Beverly Hanscom, Edward Kaspbrak is not interested in me that way. Got it? Have you received the message?” The possibility she’s trying to hand him, like it’s just that fucking easy—he can’t even think about it. It physically hurts him to think he could have exactly what he wants. “If he wanted more, there would be more. Okay?”

The door opens, just a little. And Eddie’s standing there, looking at him. Bev, damn her, steps back so Eddie can look directly at him, see his tear-streaked and no doubt red face and his hair that Bev messed up. Eddie leans against the door jamb and folds his arms, still regarding him. 

“Excuse me,” Bev says, and darts out of the bathroom, Richie glaring after her.

“How much did you hear?” Richie finally asks, as Eddie says “I do want more.”

“What?” Richie says.

“I want more,” Eddie says. “More than what we have now.”

“But you’re— You’re not—”

“I am. Rich, I divorced Myra because… I’m gay.”

“Well when were you going to tell me?” Richie asks, his voice going up embarrassingly.

Eddie smothers a snicker. “I assumed the handjobs were a strong enough hint, let alone the blowjobs? Did you want me to send you a fucking singing telegram?”

“You clearly overestimated me,” Richie says, and swallows, and it’s suddenly fucking funny and he has to laugh. 

“Rich.” Eddie steps forward then, his hands going to either side of Richie’s face, to gently tug him down a bit and kiss him, soft and sweet.

Richie stands there a moment—Eddie’s lips are on his—and then pulls Eddie closer, so quickly that Eddie gets out a gasp before he’s sliding his tongue into Richie’s mouth, backing him against the counter so the backs of his thighs hit it. 

Eddie shoves his hips against Richie’s, and something falls off the counter with a bang.

“Guys,” Bill calls loudly, “if you must, lube and condoms are in the top drawer but please don’t break anything, like the decorative soap holder, that’s an antique—”

“We’re not fucking in your half-bath, Bill,” Richie yells back, as Eddie yells, “We have lube and condoms at home.”

Over their whoops of laughter, it hits Richie that yes, he has lube and condoms and so does Eddie, and now those are _theirs_ , and those things are at their home, where they both _already live_. 

Richie looks at Eddie, and beams. “Shit,” he says, “guess you’re moving out of the guest bedroom.”

Eddie nips at his jaw. “You bet your ass I am,” he says, hands going to firmly grab said ass. 

“I think I love you,” Richie says, a little dazed.

“I _know_ you do,” Eddie says.

“Yeah, well, apparently everyone else does too.”

“It’s okay, Richie.” Eddie gives him another of those sweet, brief kisses. “I love you too, you know.” His eyes twinkle with amusement, dimples showing. “You’re the best friend I’ve ever had.”

“Fuck you, man,” Richie says on a choked laugh, tears welling in his eyes. “That’s my line.”

**Author's Note:**

> I seriously considering having this be not only FWB and Oh My God They Were Roommates but also a college AU, but I decided that I felt weird writing Eddie and Richie as college students and figured that yes, the 40-year-old disasters would absolutely attempt FWB while living in the same house. Title courtesy Green Day (no shit, right?).


End file.
